Slag Heap
by PenroseFulcrum
Summary: Truly winning the Tournament takes more than just personal skill: unless you strictly stick to the Deathmatch ladder, it takes a team. But for this group of fighters, ranging from the rejects of other teams to loners looking for a bigger payday/ greater fame, establishing a team may be just as difficult as the Tournament itself. Semi-AU, story diverges from canon after UT:GotY.
1. Prologue

**Slag Heap**

An Unreal Tournament: Game of the Year Fan Fiction

 **Disclaimer:** Unreal is the property of Epic, I own nothing.

 **Disclaimer:** Artwork for Slag Heap cover is copyright kien-biu and is used with permission. Artist's sites may contain mature content.

Prologue

 _In 2291, in an attempt to control violence among deep-space miners, the New Earth Government legalized no-holds-barred fighting. Liandri Mining Corporation, working with the NEG, established a series of leagues and bloody public exhibitions. The fight's popularity grew with their brutality. Soon, Liandri discovered that the public matches were their most profitable enterprise._

 _The professional league was formed. A cabal of the most violent and skilled warriors in known space, selected to fight in a Grand Tournament._

 _Now it is 2306, twenty-five years have passed since the founding of deathmatch. Profits from the tournament number in the hundreds of billions. You have been selected to fight in the Professional League by the Liandri Rules Board. Your strength and skill are legendary. The time has come to prove you are the best._

"You can't be serious…"

"I'm very serious, Agreos." Slain returned firmly, a frown marring his features as he looked at the young man sitting before him. "The Raw Steel uphold the virtues of strength and power over all others… but it's always been _human_ muscle honed to perfection. You however, are not fully human, as your biometric assessment clearly shows. Now I don't rightly care who hybridized you with what or what gene-boosts they added, but I'd say that one of the Hybrid teams, perhaps even the Juggernaut teams, would be a better fit for you."

"But I passed all the other initiation tests, heck, I even almost matched Manwell in strength and he uses biochem enhancements! You know that he wouldn't be nearly as strong if he weren't stimmed up all the time!"

"You don't say." The leader of Raw Steel returned flatly, doing his best to convey to the former recruit that the topic was not up for discussion or debate. After all, if the Tournament did not care, why should he? Even if Jarred's genetic modifications and gene-boosts were not against Tournament rules, they certainly went contrary to the ideals Slain wanted his team to adhere to. "Even if that were true, Manwell's strength is still human strength and the stims he might use would still be human drugs, not something augmented or designed by some other species. In any case, it doesn't matter, how he chooses to develop his power is his business as long as it doesn't conflict with the ideals of the team's philosophy."

"How can you say his strength's 'human' when it comes from a bottle?"

Apparently the 'kid' did not get that the matter had already been decided, but he would get one last chance. "This isn't up for debate; ideologically you don't fit in here. If I were simply looking for the strongest and most powerful beings out there, I wouldn't have bothered to seek out the most physically mighty humans around and then train them to ever greater heights: we're a human team and always will be. You're not, your strength – maybe even the rate at which you can grow more powerful – is augmented by genetic engineering."

"Are you guys upset that I'm the bigger man here or are you just nervous 'cause I'm-"

"Enough, you can keep your gear, but get out." Slain interjected bluntly, not willing to be taunted into any form of serious competition against the former trainee, particularly if said contest evolved into a challenge for leadership of the team… Especially since there was an established precedent for such things: in the eighteen months he had known him, the punk had always shown a propensity towards challenging others for dominance when pushed. Thankfully, it was not his problem any longer.

"Alright." The cast-off finally said with a sigh, his tense frame relaxing as he shrugged nonchalantly. Without further comment, he stood and loped out of the room, heading straight for the team lockers.


	2. Chapter 1

**Slag Heap**

An Unreal Tournament: Game of the Year Fan Fiction

 **Disclaimer:** Unreal is the property of Epic, I own nothing.

Chapter One: Wandering Jolt

Considering everything that had happened, it was somewhat inevitable that he would end up here in the Dredge… after all; this was one of the more popular neighborhoods in Reconstructed New York for Tournament competitors without teams to hang out in. Built on top of the reclaimed land formed from the detritus hauled out of the Hudson River and New York Harbor during the reconstruction of the city, the authorities had initially deemed the landmass too unstable to build on and thus left it to slowly rot. This – in turn – merely meant it became a warren for the seedier elements of society as well as those who desired a life free of the ever-present scrutiny of the NEG and the mega-corporations, regardless of what such liberties might cost.

Hence why the area attracted so many of the Tournament's less popular participants… Though the cheap, abundant beer sold by the dives here also had a certain kind of appeal, particularly to contenders who had little, if any, money to their names. Like those without reliable sponsors or a team to back them up and help them improve as well as advance through the group-based ladders of the Tournament, where the majority of the fighting took place. It was just a matter of sorting those who were content with their irrelevancy from those who sought to become more than the cannon fodder of the night for more skilled and adaptable fighters. The former were useless, he was looking for the latter. After all, his fellow Skaarj Hybrids may have determined that he was not right with their established team dynamics, but that did little to still the desire for battle that coursed through him… to say nothing of the pressure certain factions within the NEG were putting on the Hybrids to continue performing well in the Tournament, most likely to provide fodder for the official propaganda machine.

Unfortunately, with the Tournament's qualifying rounds set to begin in just a couple months, most of the teams already had their rosters set for the upcoming season and were more interested in developing team cohesion among the members they did have and training their new members as opposed to recruiting more to fill in gaps in their skill portfolios. Consequently, most of the competitors who were looking to join teams had likely done so and either been inducted or been rejected…

Vagabond growl/ sighed – his equivalent of a human's disgusted sigh – at the thought as he strode into yet another one of the nameless bars that catered to the various vices Tournament competitors and Dredge denizens alike embraced. Inside was the usual assortment of patrons that he had grown used to seeing over the past week: Dredge residents dressed in civilian-style clothing that ranged from raggedy to tacky but well-kept to more refined dress typical of the city's more affluent areas. Mixed in among the civilians, the Tournament competitors were set apart by either the more militaristic style of their gear or in how their equipment was meant more to flaunt their assets or… was that a member of Raw Steel?

Blinking in confusion for a moment, Vagabond refocused on the young man that had caught his attention. A quick inspection showed that he had the characteristic polyfoam metal pauldrons, gauntlets, codpiece, thigh armor and sabatons typical of the Raw Steel team… as well as the mostly naked, tan-skinned upper body showing off the well-toned, powerfully built, heavy muscles of his arms, chest, back and abs. All of which were classic hallmarks of the Raw Steel team and fairly unique to them: outside of the Skaarj Hybrids like himself, no other team – to say nothing of most 'freelance' competitors – were quite as brazen in their preferred styles of uniform. Well, except for a fair number of the female competitors, but since the Raw Steel team had no females among their membership that was a fairly moot point. Which begged the question: what was he doing down here in the Dredge?

Well, standing here navel-gazing was hardly going to answer that question, he concluded as he strode over toward his selected target.

"What's a Raw Steel brute doing here in the Dredge?" he asked harshly, observing what features he could as the young male turned around. Details were important, particularly if this was a new member recruited by Raw Steel for this year's Tournament. First off, unlike the other members of Raw Steel he knew of, the young man did not have particularly harsh or scarred facial features; his face was strong-featured but still youthful. Second, most members of Raw Steel preferred to shave their bodies and faces – except for the occasional moustache or stubble – and kept their hair in flattop-style crew cuts, the male in front of him apparently had no such propensities. Instead he had a goatee of shorter black hair covering his chin and tapering back along most of his jawline towards a pair of long sideburns that nearly reached the angle of his jaw. Above this, his hairstyle was composed of long, loosely-layered back-swept 'spikes' of hair with spiked, side-swept bangs covering the left forehead and eyebrow. Unusually for a member of Raw Steel, he had body hair as well, even if it was just a narrow trail of dark hair trailing down the center-line of his six-pack from his navel. He also seemed to be unusually tall for a human, probably topping out a couple inches shy of seven feet, though his frame had none of the lankiness that taller humans generally exhibited.

At least he was not drunk, if the alert look in his dark green eyes was any indication. And while that might make it easier to understand his answers, the lack of lowered inhibitions could make getting answers out of him a bit tougher…

(o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o)

"What's a Raw Steel brute doing here in the Dredge?" a gruff voice asked harshly, drawing Jarred's focus away from his current goal: to actually see if the beer here was bearable enough that he could get drunk off it before it made him vomit. Well, that was not likely to happen anytime soon, given that he apparently had some local tough on his case, he conceded as he turned and paused in surprise.

Not just some local tough then… he immediately concluded as he took in the tall, muscular alien in front of him. Granted, he had never seen one in person before – he had been born long after the Human/ Skaarj War ended – but he knew what the Skaarj looked like from historical documentaries, as well as what the hybridized versions of them looked like since they were first entered in the Tournament. Which was the only place they were seen by the public… and since they were considered to be military assets, it would be surprising to find one just living it up as a civilian in these slums.

He also knew from the tusks, green glowing eyes and mixed reptilian and human features that the male confronting him was a Skaarj Hybrid rather than a full-blooded Skaarj. Sizing up the being staring him down, he quickly noticed that the alien hybrid was covered head-to-toe in a coat of blue-green scales so fine and smooth that they seemed more akin to rough skin than reptilian hide. Except in the case of what appeared to be two auxiliary spinal columns on either side of his thick, almost hood-like neck, where the scales were enlarged to the point where they resembled the pattern of scales on an alligator's belly and became a bit more yellowish in color. When combined with the lack of variability in the color of the scales over the rest of his body, his face mask and more Skaarj-like skull structure, it all added up to probably mean he was from the so-called 'Guardian strain,' named due to the fact that the Skaarj Hybrid known as Guardian was the first publically seen Hybrid to possess such features. He was kind of surprised to idly note that the hybrid alien apparently had a navel… while humans certainly had one due to being viviparous placental mammals, he would not have thought an oviparous species like the Skaarj would develop something like that… Then again, he supposed that being a hybrid of Skaarj and Human could make that much of a difference.

Steering away from thoughts of his secondary school biology lessons, Jarred quickly took note of the armor covering the hybrid's forearms, feet and groin, identifying the symbol of the Liandri Grand Tournament on the top portion of the steel-gray armor covering the Hybrid's crotch. So his first impression had been correct, the male hybrid in front of him was a participant in the Tournament.

Well, as Slain had so glibly commented…

"I'm not a member of Raw Steel, not since they kicked me out for supposedly being a _non-human_. In fact, I'm kind of in the market for a team… Are any of the Hybrid teams still looking?" he commented nonchalantly, patting his hand on an empty seat next to him to indicate the alien could sit before continuing. "Name's Jarred Agreos, and you are…?"

(o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o)

"Name's Jarred Agreos, and you are…?"

Caught off balance by the sudden shift in conversation, it took a moment for Vagabond to mentally catch up with what he had just learned and response appropriately, taking the offered seat as he introduced himself. "Vagabond… You're a hybrid as well?"

If that were the case, there had been significant alterations to the hybridization process since he had been processed. 'Jarred' looked completely human.

"Well, not a Skaarj Hybrid, if that's what you're thinking." Jarred answered, smiling slightly to show off his abnormally long and sharp canines at the same time that he brought a hand up to display what appeared to be slightly claw-like fingernails. Not that there was much visible difference between them and regular human fingernails beyond being thicker as well as coming to a sharpened point that curved downward slightly. They really did not seem to do more than look strange to be honest, Vagabond doubted Jarred could even draw blood with them, though it was a possibility he supposed.

After a moment, Jarred set his hand back down and blew out a soft sigh, deciding he may as well come right out with it. "Apparently my parents did some work on my genes to give me some advantages over the other colonists, gene-boosted me and hybridized me with some creature not native to our colony. Probably not a real hybridization though, probably just created artificial human genes that replicated the traits they wanted me to have and introduced the changes via retrovirus. I think they must have been going for lupine traits… yeah, those suckers probably would've been a freakin' plague back home and what better species to adapt traits from than one that would be an invasive species in a given environment? Not really sure how I feel about what they did, even if I do get it… I guess."

Fortunately, as it turned out, Vagabond had tuned Jarred out about two sentences into the human's spiel. "Err… what was all that?"

"Eh, personal crap, nothing you'd be interested in." Jarred replied offhandedly, an untroubled grin crossing his face as he shifted the topic. "So we know why I'm here, but what's a Hybrid such as yourself doing here?"

"I'd rather not…"

"Hey, fair's fair here, you asked me and I answered… can't be any worse than my story, right?" Jarred interjected, a light scowl on his face even as he stretched out the rest of his body into a more relaxed pose.

"You volunteered the information!" the hybrid contested hotly.

"Eh…" the human said with a shrug before he leaned forward and scooted his still-full mug back towards the bartender, using the motion to give himself time to put the pieces together. "Given that I don't see any other hybrids of the Skaarj variety about, I'd guess you don't have a team either."

Vagabond delivered a rather effective glare, prompting Jarred's frown to shift into a wide smile that showed off his too-large canines in a rather predatory manner before he continued. "You know, I don't really care if you're not part of a team or why… Well, maybe that's not quite true, but you seem decent enough… Want to go get a practice match in on the emulators, if any of them are open at least?"

And now the infuriating human had completely lost him, Vagabond groused to himself as he struggled to connect together the verbal parts of the man's train of thought. After several seconds however, he gave up, concluding he must have drifted off again in the middle of Jarred explaining himself and finally asked, "What?"

"Well, you're a hybrid, I'm a hybrid and neither of us have teams, so I'm thinking we should stick together. Form a team of our own maybe, but I want ta' see what you got first." Jarred explained as he spun around and practically launched himself out of his chair.

"I'm not sure that's how team development works." Vagabond groaned, shaking his head as he stood as well. After all, it was not like he had anything better to do…

"Well, it works for the time being, we can figure out the rest later."

(o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o)

As Jarred understood matters, the so-called 'respawning' process used in the Liandri Tournament to resuscitate contestants was in fact something of a misnomer, since even the most advanced medical technology available could not reverse death. Especially given the gory nature of some contestants' deaths… one simply did not survive being fragged, vaporized, decapitated or having their head blown apart. Even excepting the issue of dying, many injuries inflicted during the Tournament were the kind you did not recover from… like having everything below your waist run over by a Goliath tank or your spine snapped. This was something of a problem as, despite their love of violence, audiences had a hard time developing an attachment to (and thus a market base for merchandise based on) fighters who would likely be dead or permanently eliminated from competing before the Tournament ended. Being the somewhat unethical and enterprising individuals that they were however, the Liandri management soon _discovered_ a way around the little problem of participant fatalities: simply do not let the competitors die permanently in the first place.

Easier said than done. After all, the whole draw of the Tournament was the fact that audiences wanted the opportunity to enjoy gratuitously violent entertainment.

Initial thought on an acceptable compromise involved cloning competitors and using neural uploading to imprint the newly deceased competitor's neural record on the blank clone. While theoretically practical, the plan had several problems in actual implementation. The first problem – and the one most relevant to Liandri – was the sheer cost of cloning participants enough times to compensate for the body counts of a typical season. The second reason was that non-AI entities that underwent neural uploading tended to develop serious psychological issues simply as a result of the uploading process. While Liandri executives had little problem with that – the insane tended to make for great entertainment if for no other reason than their absurd antics and brutality – the Liandri team in charge of their marketing department pointed out that the Tournament already had plenty of lunatics participating and they were dangerously close to market saturation as things stood. Confronted with such facts, the Liandri executive board decided to look for other options.

Eventually however, an innovative zonegate physicist hit upon what was viewed to be the perfect solution: a 'cheap' version of the contestants would actually end up dying but the actual person would not thanks to an application of a principle known as quantum superposition – a principle best exemplified in a twentieth-century thought experiment known as Schrödinger's Cat. While the actual intricacies of the respawning device were far beyond his ability to understand, the dumbed-down version that he had been given when he asked was that while in the arena the Tournament fighters were enveloped in a field that resulted allowed macro-scale expression of quantum mechanical principles under the proper conditions. Until they actually took a fatal hit their normal state – that of being alive and healthy – was their only state of being. An instant before any contestant took fatal damage however, the situation changed rapidly, with the respawner inducing a paradox by allowing two equivalent quantum states of the person to exist simultaneously… In other words, the respawner created an unstable, macro-scale quantum clone of the fighter that went on to get fragged, slimed, bashed or any one of a hundred other violent demises… which was also why the corpses and dismembered bodies of the competitors faded away after a few minutes: they were simply unstable duplicates of the actual fighters created via quantum duplication. Meanwhile, the original version of the participant was teleported off of the battlefield before they suffered serious or fatal injury, injected with potent, short-lived medical nanomachines to heal any previous injuries and then teleported back onto the battlefield with only their basic starting equipment available.

Contestants got to live and fight again, audiences got to enjoy their favorite blood sport and the Liandri Corporation made billions… everyone was happy. Except maybe the unfortunate women and men who served as test subjects for the respawner prototypes, though according to Liandri officials, they never needed a prototype and their first attempt at a functional respawner worked perfectly with no hideous maimings whatsoever. After all, respawners were just a novel new application of the decades-old zonegate technology, how could such a simple repurposing of such well-understood technology cause problems?

Granted, it was reported that contestants sporadically received some of their copy's sensory feedback due to the effects of temporary quantum entanglement upon the brain but that was clearly anomalous neural input since all a fighter had to do was look around and realize they were seeing things that were not happening to them. Such circumstances were the closest any contestant would ever come to death or permanent maiming in an actual Tournament fight as long as the primary and numerous back-up respawners were working correctly.

All in all, from Jarred's point of view, it was immensely comforting to know he was not actually going to be dying repeatedly over the course of his Tournament career, though the gag order he had been served immediately after having the details of respawning explained was somewhat concerning. Probably because if Liandri ever showed what might be construed as concern for their contestants the popularity of the Tournament would plummet.

In any case, all that said, respawner operation was quite expensive – even for a mega-corp such as Liandri – and thus use of the system was restricted to actual sanctioned Tournament competition. However, Liandri also understood that well-practiced fighters put on a better show and attracted even larger audiences. Thus they needed some way for the contestants to train under somewhat realistic Tournament conditions without the added expense of running respawners constantly. Therefore, at least in the case of practice sessions, Liandri had instead opted to fall back on good old-fashioned but reliable virtual environments with haptic feedback capability. While not as reliable of a gauge of combat ability as real combat, the simulators were much 'safer' than actual live-fire exercises without the benefit of active respawners… unless the rumors regarding certain members of The Corrupt booby-trapping the simulators were more than just hearsay. Everyone knew they had only been able to get away with that because Xan had been the champion at the time though.

Chuckling lightly at the thought, Jarred finished pulling on the full-body suit needed for the haptic feedback component of the simulators, taking care to ensure it was not bunching up anywhere as well as making some adjustments in a futile effort to prevent it from constricting his tackle overmuch. Eventually persuaded that the suit fit on him as well as it was going to, he made his way through the communal locker rooms toward the simulator stations, ignoring the various reactions the few other males scattered throughout the locker complex gave him as he passed. It was an inevitable result of wearing a thin, body-hugging suit so tight that it may as well have been painted on the wearer: even when factoring in the groin plating meant to provide some semblance of modesty, the suit really did not leave much to the imagination. That was especially true in his case, at least in part due to his practice of going commando while wearing it, since armor and clothing worn under the suit tended to dampen the feedback provided by the suit's haptic system. Thankfully, at least in terms of catering to his personal preferences, he had been able to purchase his own personal suit with the money his fellow colonists had provided him with, rather than having to rely on the communal-use suits provided free of charge by Liandri for fighters who wanted to use to simulators to wear.

He looked forward to the day when he could repay his fellow colonists for their confidence in him… After all, they had been the ones to sponsor his entry into the Tournament and trusted him to spend the money they had invested in him wisely.

He quickly shoved those thoughts to the side as he left the locker area and saw Vagabond waiting for him at the door leading to the simulator wing, the Skaarj Hybrid's attire nearly identical to his own except for an NEG logo on the chest and the fact that he apparently was fine with wearing the suit over his normal armor. Yes, now was not the time to reflect on his reasons for joining the Tournament, now was the time to focus on building up the team he would need to be a serious competitor in the Grand Tournament. Securing Vagabond's cooperation in that would help a lot… mostly because it would show that he was actually sincere in his intention to build up a new Tournament team. To say nothing of the fact that Vagabond might know how to get in contact with others who were looking for teams to join.

Before all that though, he not only had to make sure the Hybrid was skilled enough to join but had to show Vagabond that he was competent enough at fighting to actually compete in the Tournament.

"Hey Vega!" he called out in a cheerful voice only slightly louder than normal conversational level. No need to raise his voice further, after all, it was not like he had a crowd to compete with. "Are you ready to test each other's skills?"

"Vega?" the Hybrid inquired, his tone somewhere between bemused, offended and put off by the sudden nickname.

"Well, Vagabond is a bit long to say in a hurry… like under combat conditions, and Vaga just sounds weird, so Vega." Jarred explained, clapping the alien hybrid on the shoulder. For his part, Vagabond contemplated the human's justification for several seconds before losing his train of thought and deciding to just nod his approval.

"It will work."

"Cool." Jarred grinned as he strode into the simulator wings and toward the nearest empty set of trainers. A few seconds later and he had flipped open the control interface and was scanning through the setup options for the virtual environment they would be entering shortly. "So, what are your preferences?"

"Flak Cannon and Ripper. Yours?"

"Eh, I'll go with the Enforcer and GES Bio Rifle this time around." Jarred answered nonchalantly, earning the human a – unseen thanks to Vagabond's face mask – cocked eyebrow ridge. Not many Tournament fighters still used the aging Enforcer, most having instead chosen to switch to the more powerful Assault Rifle… and the GES Bio Rifle was just an unpleasant weapon to deal with, completely at odds with the overwhelmingly friendly and relaxed nature Jarred seemed to exude.

Unfortunately, before he could contemplate the possible ramifications of that inconsistency, Jarred jolted him out of his thoughts with an announcement of: "All done!"

"So where are we fighting at?"

"DM-Morpheus, may as well get any fear of heights out in the open right away, eh?"

"I suppose." Vagabond commented blandly as he climbed into one of the two trainers and began synching his suit's systems to the proper broadcast band for the simulator's wireless, sealing the hatch behind him as the projectors inside began warming up simultaneously. A few seconds later, the light in the pod dimmed only to flare back into existence, sketching out a scene of Jarred and him standing across from each other on the roof top of a building so tall that one saw the black void and stars of space for a sky instead of the typical blues of Earth. Quickly glancing around, he took in the other two towers behind him and the rooftop complexes that made up the entirety of the Tournament Arena atop the Galaxyscraper Superstructure. At the same time, he felt the haptic suit he was wearing constrict around his torso slightly, limiting his breathing capacity in a crude approximation of the effects of the reduced atmosphere that would be present at this height in the real world. Across from him, Jarred grunted uncomfortably as his suit did the same.

"Alright, the limit is ten kills and the system is set up to provide us with four bots to shoot at…" The male explained, grinning wide enough to show off his sharpened canines in a clearly predatory manner. "… as well as each other. Just a bit of friendly competition."

"Of course." Vagabond deadpanned just as a giant countdown appeared in the void overhead, ticking down from twenty seconds.

"Well, good luck!" Jarred called back as he dashed off up the nearby ramp. Sighing to himself, Vagabond followed suit, only heading down into the depths of the tower instead of pursuing one of his opponents into a potential trap.


	3. Chapter 2

**Slag Heap**

An Unreal Tournament: Game of the Year Fan Fiction

 **Disclaimer:** Unreal is the property of Epic, I own nothing.

Chapter Two: Founding

No more than fifteen seconds later, a loud chiming sound rang out across the simulated battlefield and Vagabond found himself under immediate assault by a bot wielding a Link Gun. Quickly rolling to dodge the lance of burning death, he came up inside the virtual fighter's guard and fired off a burst from his assault rifle into its chest and neck. Unfortunately, much like in real life, the loose grouping of the rounds did not hit anything immediately fatal so it was not quite enough to drop his opponent, especially with the intense resilience training most fighters went through for the Tournament. As a result, even as he thought this, he shifted his aim up further, unloading a second burst of fire into the construct's face, pulping it and dropping the bot in an instant.

Nodding to himself at a job well done and an ambush thwarted, he quickly snatched up the bot's fallen weapon and checked the ammo store. A decent amount of ammo was left; all things considered… it would tide him over until he reached a better weapon at least.

Apparently Jarred had not programmed the scenario to exclusively provide their preferred weapons; he probably merely made sure they were in the spawn index and nothing more. Well, he could deal with that, Vagabond concluded as he reached the middle level of the complex he was in.

Though he probably did not want to deal with that, he concluded as a bullet-riddled bot plummeted past his level just a couple yards in front of him.

Unfortunately, his distraction cost him as he felt a sudden, heavy pain in the back of his skull and then everything went black.

(o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o)

Jarred frowned heavily as Vagabond's simulated body vanished in a burst of light before it could tumble back down the ramp toward him. He had just finished dispatching his second bot with his Enforcer when he had been forced to drop down off the top level's helipad platform in order to avoid a second bot carrying a rocket launcher. Landing on the ledge overlooking the ramp down to the lowest level, he had not expected to see Vagabond standing there staring at empty space.

For a minute he considered informing Vagabond of the situation… before he realized that in a real Tournament fight such a move could and likely would cost him a lot more than an expendable duplicate. As he pulled out and charged his impact hammer – better to get the more certain kill than engage in a drawn-out firefight – he really hoped that Vagabond would not hold a grudge. Or decide to just up and quit on him.

Even if he did not, this was probably not the best way of building trust among team members Jarred conceded as he unloaded his fully-charged impact hammer right into the back of the Hybrid's head.

(o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o)

 _Vagabond got smeared by Jarred's piston._

As his vision returned, Vagabond blinked in astonishment at the message that greeted him on his HUD. The human that was trying to recruit him onto his team had 'killed' him!

On the other hand, he had been distracted – a problem the other Skaarj had berated him for previously – and there was no one in the Tournament who would not have taken advantage of such an opening. Though it was still impressive that Jarred had managed to sneak up on him… or move so quickly for that matter, so the human was at least proficient in some of the more brutal aspects of killing and combat despite the easygoing air he maintained. In fact, someone like Jarred was exactly the sort of-

Vagabond rolled to one side, deftly avoiding the rocket a bot had tried to nail him with before unloading a few bursts from his assault rifle into the virtual construct. Following its rudimentary AI programing, the bot immediately ducked up onto the ramp, using the thick concrete as a shield while it tried to find a more protected and advantageous position to fire from. Rather than stick around, Vagabond dashed behind the central column holding up the upper platform and quickly dropped down the ramp leading to the lowest level of the tower.

To his surprise, despite not being in the correct tower for it, he found the Ripper waiting for him downstairs, tucked away in one of the lower chamber's corners. Then again, considering that Jarred had altered the weapons inventory for this level, it should have been expected that the spawn locations for the weapons would change as well, he concluded as he snatched up the saw blade launcher and spare ammo. Loading the extra ammunition into the weapon, he turned to head back upstairs just as the rocket launcher-toting bot ran into the room, only for its head to go flying as Vagabond snapped a shot off into its neck.

Satisfied at a job well done, he leapt out the room's 'bay window,' soaring toward the lower chamber of the tallest tower while peppering the two bots fighting down there with several saw blades, grinning viciously as one of their heads popped off in a spray of simulated blood. An instant later and he landed, sending a barrage of saws bouncing up the ramp across from him to cut short the second bot's flight before taking a moment to check his HUD.

It was his three to Jarred's three… surprising that the human had not scored since taking him out with the impact hammer. Shrugging it off as irrelevant, he followed the deceased bot's path up a level and – noticing it was clear – moved to run up top just as a bot leapt off the platform, flying toward the tallest tower in a graceful arc.

… That was abruptly cut off as a spread of several rockets collided with the bot just after it reached the top of its jump, sending its tattered remains plummeting to the lowest platform in-between the towers far below. Focusing in on where the vapor trails originated from, Vagabond had just enough time to make out Jarred's distinctive form before a flash of light indicated the human had fired at him as well. Cursing, he quickly ducked behind the main support column for the helipad, breathing a sigh of relief as the rocket slammed into the landing he had been on instead of curving to track him. Thankfully, his positioning had also been such that the concrete ramp shielded him from the shrapnel, leaving him completely unharmed.

Immediately after that sigh however, he took off, sprinting up the ramp to the helipad just as he saw a flash of suntanned skin, dark grey and coyote brown that was likely Jarred landing on the helipad. Instinctively dodging to the side, he barely avoided the rocket the human snapped off at him and leapt up onto the mini-tower overlooking the helipad.

Well, it seemed that the Redeemer was still available…

(o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o)

 _Jarred was vaporized by Vagabond's Redeemer!_

 _Foedir-86 was vaporized by Vagabond's Redeemer!_

 _Vagabond killed his own dumb self._

Jarred blinked as he quickly reviewed the status report on his HUD even while he raced down the tower he had respawned in. Whether Vega had intended it or not, that was a beautiful holding strategy: the Hybrid had avoided losing points or allowing him to score, ultimately keeping their counts tied up at four to four. He would have to get his rear in gear if he wanted to actually win this, and as much as it was true that the rocket launcher had stopping power, range and was probably unexpected considering what Vega knew of his preferences in terms of arms, Jarred had to admit he preferred less… overplayed weapons.

Like the Bio Rifle, he concluded happily as he scooped up the tubular gun and the additional tarydium capsules nearby. Quickly clipping the extra ammo onto his belt, he spun just as he heard the sound of boots hitting concrete and blasted an oncoming bot straight in the face with a gob of hazardous waste, followed by two more quick shots to finish them off.

Grabbing the bot's weapon, he could not help but sigh as he realized that the bot had been carrying an Enforcer. Granted, dual Enforcers were one of his preferred loadouts, but the fact that the bot… oh wait, that was Foedir-86, no wonder it only had the most basic armament on it. That made him feel somewhat better about the competency of his simulated opponents, though that bot should probably have been designated as an ammo handler rather than a direct combatant since this was the second time it had given him another Enforcer to use.

Reaching the helipad, he caught a glimpse of Vega using the flak cannon to rip another bot to shreds on the middle level of one of the shorter towers before unloading a large mass of tarydium byproduct onto Shrt-739. Not even paying attention where it struck on the bot past the fact that his shot did connect since any hit with that amount of bio sludge was always fatal, he continued on to leap across to the tower Vega was not on, firing several smaller globs of sludge onto the helipad he was headed toward. The bots fighting on the rooftop scattered to avoid his fire, only for one to fall prey to a rapid-fire barrage from his dual Enforcers while the second one retreated downstairs.

Satisfied that he was safe for the moment, Jarred turned toward the tower he had spotted Vega in earlier just as the Skaarj Hybrid leapt toward the platform he was on, a flak grenade already crossing the void toward him. Dashing across the helipad, he whipped out his Bio Rifle and quickly laid out the toxic waste equivalent of a minefield, grinning savagely as he pulled out his dual Enforcers and opened fire, striking a few glancing blows on the descending Hybrid before the other living competitor landed in a particularly dense grouping of bio sludge with a loud cry of "F*ck!"

Well, he probably was not going to be happy about that one, Jarred concluded as he took off down the ramp, hoping he could catch up to the bot that had ran off earlier. Unfortunately, this bot seemed to be quite the coward and by the time he reached the middle tier the simulacrum had vanished completely. Shaking his head in disappointment, he stalked around behind the central support column, hopeful that he would be able to catch a target unawares while it was running up the ramp from the floor below. Seeing no one on the ramp currently, he dashed over, skidding to a stop just as Vega dashed up the ramp armed with a Ripper. Bringing up his Enforcers, he had only a second to feel light-headed before his vision went dark.

(o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o)

Breathing in relief, Vega lowered his Ripper after the decapitated projection of Jarred vanished in a flash, amazed that he had been quicker on the draw than the human and fortunate enough to nail him in the neck. Yes, he would have hit Jarred, his aim was at least that good when he was 'in the zone' – so to speak – but he had expected a strike on Jarred's upper arms or shoulders, which would have thrown off the human's aim and given him time to line up a more certain kill shot. Well, he would hardly complain about his good fortune…

That said, Jarred would probably be coming back for him with a vengeance, he probably should not stick around…

(o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o)

Grinning wildly, Jarred climbed out of his simulator as their trial match came to an end, with him just barely coming out ahead: scoring ten kills to Vega's nine. True, he knew that he was hardly the most skilled contender in the Tournament, but to his way of thinking Vega doing so well was a ringing endorsement for the Hybrid joining up with him. After all, if Vega was too much better it would be difficult for him to improve and would foster stagnation on Vega's part. The same was true for if Jarred was too much better than Vega. At least this way, they could both improve by practicing against each other… and against any others they might be able to recruit. Now, the only thing left to see was if Vega would accept his offer, but first…

"Good match!" he proclaimed cheerily, holding out a hand for Vega to shake as the Hybrid got his bearings in the real world again. Upon the Hybrid reciprocating his good-natured gesture in a similarly friendly manner, Jarred continued as they headed toward the locker rooms. "That move you pulled with the Ripper was really impressive, particularly how you bounced the saw around the corner to chase Foedir-86 up the ramp. Actually, you're really skilled with bouncing those blades around to hit targets."

"Well, the others always said I was scatter-brained so-" Vega cut himself off abruptly, his sense of embarrassment obvious despite his face mask and hybridized biology hiding most of the more recognizable visual cues.

"Hey, nothing to be self-conscious about, you did well." Jarred interjected into the unexpected silence as they neared the locker room door, pausing just outside as he turned to confront his Hybrid companion. "So what if you're a little distractible?"

"It makes me a liability to any team I'm on." Vagabond said flatly as he pushed past Jarred into the changing room.

"Yeah, well, it's not like working alone is the solution you know." Jarred countered, pausing for a moment as both he and Vega stripped off their haptic feedback suits – and the armor underneath in Vega's case – hanging their gear up in the nearby rapid decontamination unit before moving into the shower room. "I mean, dying repeatedly might provide ample motivation for you to curb your pensive tendencies but I'd think having a team to watch your back while you work on the problem might be more effective."

At Vagabond's nebulous-sounding grunt of acknowledgement, Jarred decided to let the matter drop for the moment and give his new potential comrade time to mull his argument over. After all, it did no good to try and force the issue. In the meantime, the two finished in the showers, grabbed their sterilized and cleaned gear, then headed toward the locker rows. For his part, Jarred simply bundled his suit up under one arm and followed after Vagabond, casually leaning up against the bank of lockers next to the Hybrid's chosen locker in order to respond to any further questions or comments the other male might have. Or catch Vega's response to his offer… after all, just because he was not aggressively seeking an answer did not mean he had to wait passively after all.

And, as luck would have it, he did not have to wait long before Vagabond spoke again.

"You know that any improvement in my focus – if there even is or will be any – will take time right? That's going to cause problems for the team during combat."

"We all have our idiosyncrasies." Jarred replied, shrugging casually as he set his wadded up suit down on the bench running down the middle of the aisle before he dropped it on the floor. "If we were all perfect combatants, the Tournament would be incredibly boring because it'd always end in a draw and all the ladders would be run on an individual basis instead. After all, why would you need a team if you have no weaknesses that others need to cover?"

Vagabond mused silently for a few more seconds before finally nodding. "Sure, I'm in."

"Great!" Jarred proclaimed happily, slinging one of his powerful arms around the disconcerted Skaarj Hybrid's shoulders. "We'll need to register a team name and recruit more members of course… to say nothing of facilities and general supplies. Anything else we'll probably be able to find out once we register by way of paperwork we'll have to fill out."

"Don't forget about making sure everyone can work together and we can fill some of the roles that any successful team needs to have filled…" Vagabond added in a strained voice.

"I know: we need people for some of the standard combat roles like vanguard, heavy weapons and so on, not to mention we'll need someone to take care of our standard issue weapons and ammo as well as our personalized armor." Jarred agreed, relaxing back against the lockers and crossing his arms in a contemplative pose as he spoke.

Looking over at his new teammate as he finished putting on the last of his standard armor, Vagabond felt the need to add an observation of his own, "Based on what I've seen, you could definitely serve as a heavy weapons specialist."

"Yeah… while I'm partial to the minigun and can handle a rocket launcher pretty well, I don't specialize in heavy weapons," Jarred countered, "I might have the physical strength and build needed to handle them, but I prefer weapons with a bit more finesse."

"A minigun has finesse?"

"Compared to a rocket launcher or Redeemer? Or a typical mine? You bet it does. Believe me, heavy weapons aren't my thing."

"If you say so." Vagabond said wryly, shaking his head as if he did not quite believe the other male. After all, Jarred had done rather well at using that rocket launcher during their match… but who was he to judge? In any case… "So I guess I'll meet you outside then to finalize our plans here and maybe recruit a few more members before we actually register our team?"

"That sounds like a good idea." Jarred mused as he followed Vagabond to the locker room exit, pausing only when he realized he still needed to grab his gear. After giving the Hybrid a nod, he casually started toward his own locker before remembering he had left his haptic feedback suit near Vagabond's locker. Detouring to grab the suit, he could not help but grin widely at how well things seemed to be going. Granted, he did not expect that the entire process would go so smoothly, but he had his first team member and that was usually the hardest step since from here on he and Vega could work together to overcome any problems they faced. Well, at least in theory. True, Vega seemed dedicated to making this work at least, though when it came time to deal with the numerous issues and problems associated with putting together a team… that would be the real test.

And the first problem they had to deal with was finding additional members, Jarred concluded as he stuffed his haptic suit back in his assigned locker and grabbed his pants, quickly slipping the armored leggings on before grabbing and slipping on his socks and boots. Snatching up his gauntlets and shoulder armor next, he quickly made his way back to the exit before even putting them on. After all, it was not likely he would need them for the time being; they had a lot of work to do before tomorrow and putting his gauntlets and pauldrons on while they headed back for the Dredge would be a more efficient use of time.

Speaking of time… he quickly checked the clock built into his gauntlet and grinned even wider at seeing it was earlier than he had thought. So much the better, they would be able to get back out before the night-time rush of fighters looking for an evening's diversion or recreation really got started.

(o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o) (o)

"So, how familiar are you with regards to where the unaligned fighters hang out in the Dredge, Vega?" Jarred inquired as the pair rode the maglev back out to the Dredge district, night just starting to fall as they entered the slum zone.

"Fairly familiar, I had been wandering around for a few days before I came across you." The Hybrid answered, thinking back to some of the places he had seen contestants without teams gathering. Most of them would not worth their time to visit, occupied mostly by those people content to simply run out their time in the Tournament or whose dispositions were not conducive to joining a team. That said however, there were always potential exceptions if one looked hard enough… "If I remember, there is a bar down by the harbor-front where they run some individual and tag-team cage matches for competitors looking to earn some extra money outside of the Tournament proper. After all, if we're going to be looking for teammates, may as well start in a place where there are people who show they can work with others or at least have some kind of desire or motivation we can exploit… Still, this place is mostly for those who have given up advancing any higher up in the rankings but we might be able to inspire a couple of them to give fighting in the Tournament seriously another try. Particularly since the matches aren't sanctioned by Liandri or the NEG so there're no weapons beyond brute strength and the prize money is a pittance compared to what they would earn from a good showing in a proper match."

"Well, if it comes down to a match of brute strength, I think we've got it covered." Jarred chuckled, flexing to emphasize his point. "Plus, I've got some hand-to-hand combat training from my time in the colonial militia on Crepus, so I've got some skill to back that up. I'd imagine it's the same for you, yes? I mean, from what I've heard you guys are training to be Earth's elite shock troopers for the next war."

"The initial generation was, as are the Hybrids who are directly transferred into the armed forces, but the rest of us – those participating in the Tournament – were only given basic training and sent out to provide fuel for the NEG's propaganda machine by demonstrating our superior combat prowess."

"A bit cynical there…" Jarred deadpanned before shrugging as the two fighters exited the train near the harbor. "Then again, the NEG had the Colonial Authority come in and disband our colony's militia, so I'm not exactly what you'd call a fan of the administration. Still, this place isn't the best locale to be talking about such matters."

Discretely looking around at the surrounding crowd, Vagabond easily picked up at least half-a-dozen individuals who were paying far more attention to their conversation than was generally considered polite. Whether they were spies for the NEG or recruiting for one of the dissident factions was somewhat irrelevant, either option would lead to an uncomfortable conversation if you expressed any kind of disapproval over the NEG's actions. Especially if that disapproval was just the mundane dissatisfaction typical of your average skeptical yet nominally loyal citizen and not something more subversive. "Yeah… let's just focus on finding some more teammates for the Tournament…"

"Besides, we can always discuss that sort of thing later." Jarred agreed, taking a moment to remove the electronic earplugs he normally wore.

"What's…? Nevermind, I can ask later."

"Huh? Oh, my earplugs? I have vestibular hyperacusis – it's this thing where loud sounds and/ or certain frequencies of sound disrupt my sense of balance – so I normally wear them to dampen the noise around me to tolerable levels so I don't end up with a bad case of vertigo or something worse. Guess having a keen nose and even more sensitive ears aren't always an advantage, though it's quiet enough here where I'd rather be able to hear if anyone's discussing what we just said." The human explained quietly, shrugging as he tucked his earplugs into a pouch on his belt. "The medics in the militia never could figure out why I had such frequently recurring bouts of hyperacusis… guess that's one downside of being genetically engineered into a hybrid."

"Why tell me all this? I mean, what if someone else overheard?" Vagabond asked as he came to a sudden halt, puzzled as to why Jarred would so freely admit something like that.

"No one's paying that much attention to our idle chatter." Jarred replied in a light, teasing tone as he continued on ahead. "Besides, we're going to be building a team together, right? I think I can trust you not to go spreading this around."

"Not like knowing you have sensitive ears would give another team a tactical advantage, at least not while you have those earplugs anyway." Vagabond pointed out, earning a chuckle and nod from his new teammate.

"Right."


End file.
